Specter
by WD's KiT-TaY
Summary: Specter is the dark alter-ego of a man who's underloved, an assassinator with secrets. Until one day, someone turns the paranoia back on him and becomes determined to find this man and why his closest family is next in line for millions... RUSSEL STORY!
1. Chapter 1

**New story. Groooooovy.**

**Gorillaz belong to Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett. For those of the few fanatic zealot that didn't know. **

'**Dis be called… actually what IS it called… errr…. **

**Oh yeah. Guess who. It's him. SPECTER. Dun dun.**

It was 10pm, Tuesday night in muggy July and he was bang on time once again. He trudged through chary alleyways in the outskirts of Essex, stepping in puddles of rainwater to diesel oil to thieving blood. These parts of town always looking like they'd never been exposed to the light of day before. It always made him feel like he was back home in the States. Not a soul was in sight but a few slinky cats and rats scuttling in the trash. The heat was intense tonight. Morbid clouds gave the sky an almost purple glow that encouraged heavy rain but it was plugged up with some foul stench below. A shower just waiting to happen but would never come. The weather was always hideous.

After winding through endless passageways he reached the top-notch establishment that was running on the underground. Only known to the local few and friends, who had their dark sides to share, lost their way and came for a stiff drink and a smoke to think their lives over. It had been running for many years now and stole the old fashion of a Chicago 1920's joint. Almost like a speakeasy that time forgot and that's why he loved it. The previous owners were well into that sort of getup and murder mystery nonsense, and so the pub was named 'The Hogwash' because of it. Regular attendants always showed up every now and then, good company seemed to come around often. For a shabby tavern, it was quite flamboyant in customer popularity. The word of this extraordinary bar got around fast.

He stepped up onto the creaking porch and pushed open the heavy bolted doors, his head lowered and his hat tipped just over his nose. The conservative barroom was heavily packed that night with immortal patrons of which he'd never laid eyes on in his life. They came in groups, laughing and drinking and making good business but personally, he didn't like it. It was becoming some sort of circus tent now but he never spoke a word against it.

A few familiar eyes watched him approach the drinks bar in the centre of the room, stocked with every liquor you could find in England. Legitimate or otherwise. He tapped the countertop for attention and glanced over at the piano player in the corner. She caught his eye and gave a faint smile that enlightened the cheeky number she was playing. With the tip of his hat, he turned around again and stared straight into the pasty unshaven face of the bartender. His light blue eyes darting between both of his and his near-rotten teeth chewing hastily away wide open.

"Specter," he greeted warmly and gave him a rough pat on the shoulder.

"What's happening, Les." A dear friend from way back, Leslie of London.

"S'all good, mate. Production is steadily growing everyday, thanks to you." The mystery man gave only a shadow of a smile. He knew it was true. Les sighed and pulled out a fresh glass, dressed in the same olden clothing that came with the Hogwash and with great pleasure to serve the clientele. This was the get-together point for him. "What'll be, sir? The usual?" He gave a nod and Les poured out his favourite toxin with the dash of another. He always needed something strong to relieve him from the day and get him through the night. He took a small sip and pretended the raw alcohol didn't grill his insides like a roast dish. "Anything else I can do you for?"

Specter had the cash in his hand but Les shook his head and pushed it back to him. "On the house, mate. This night's your night. Quite a few people have asked about you already. Business is blooming good for both of us, eh?" He stared back at Les solemnly and took another sip. He looked over his shoulder nervously and scanned them all over like he was trying to identify who was searching for him. He turned back and shoved his hat back so everything wasn't so shady. "You're… _clients_, mate."

"Yeah… I guess I should get over there then."

Les held out a generous hand towards the people of the bar. "Have a good one, sir," he smiled his horrid wonky teeth and went back to serving the others. Specter took a lonesome seat at the very end of the pub where his table was always especially reserved like a late arrival. The ice clonked about in his glass of swirling concoction and he downed the last of it. It was like drinking bleach, but anything no matter how drastic so he could just forget. The girl on the piano finished up the song, gave a modest bow to the cheering crowd and started walking over to him. And as usual he was forced to play along, pretend she was just his partner in crime. The sex meant nothing. Every time he had to convince himself that she meant nothing to him. He was a man who couldn't afford to form relations, let alone lose them.

"Hey you," she whispered and nuzzled him further down the bench as she sat down. "Haven't seen you in weeks. Where'd you run off to?" Specter gazed upon her slapper beauty that just seemed to smack him around the head for rejecting her every time. She must've looked even more delicious without him wearing his sunglasses. She had gorgeously curled chocolate brown hair and olive skin. Real hazel eyes that glowed orange in the light. Her lips were so soft and her figure was so tall and slim. She could've become a model if she hadn't wanted a taste of the misery. He shook off the notions and turned sideways from her. She was American as well and that didn't do him any favours in trying to resist her.

"I had a, hmm… some family issues back in the real world." Her name was Madison. Specter knew everything he needed to know about her, enough to trust her as a close friend. Unfortunately she couldn't say the same about him. His hand slid around her waist and he flashed her some money that almost doubled her tips. "I'm back now."

"Have you missed me?" she asked. The money slipped from his grip and skidded all across the floor. Madison gasped and immediately dove under the table to retrieve the notes, grasping his legs on the way, feeling up the heavy artillery that lay behind his clothes. She sat back up and didn't count the money like she did, she just stared at it in distress. Her eyes were feeling heavy with tears because he still paid her even though he shouldn't have to. All she wanted to do was get to know him, be allowed to turn on the light whenever they were alone.

"Y'know, if you wanted, we could… take this into the backroom." His expression for her had now eased up. Specter was one who suspects ambition, senses pain and absorbs empathy. She just smiled back deviously. Who was she kidding? he wasn't interested in whatever else she had to offer. Only after one thing in women. She had just always wondered why out of all the other girls, it was _always _her being led out back, being given the nod of acceptance by the barman and the wink of approval by every whistling nosy git in the pub who happened to spot them. I guess these were the best happy days could get. An everlasting one night relationship that never went anywhere was the best she could have. It was a jigsaw falling into place, just like Specter.

**Well there you go. Try it, you might like it… **

**I was gonna write more but that could take me weeks and I just wanted to get it out there now because everyone's slowly fading away… DX**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**I'm trying to get through to my friend. She wants to be beautiful and superficial 'cos she's fucked up inside. But she doesn't seem to take the hint that I ONLY LOVED HER BECAUSE OF THAT! Gosh. Has she even looked in a fucking mirror? She's gorgeous. Now someone shake some sense into that damn girl –firm nod-**

**--**

Spectre glanced up at the man passing him by, woken from his hazy thoughts. He looked back down at the table and waited for the man to leave but he didn't. He wanted Spectre, he'd been looking all night for him in search of a cruel-minded justice. The man stuffed his sweaty hands in his pockets; he was shaking steadily and gave the bar a good look over before he turned back again. "You're Spectre," he lowered his voice to a coarse whisper.

Spectre gazed up at the man with his dark misleading sunglasses and he never took his eyes off him. He gave a small nod and the man dashed down into the seat opposite him, shoving himself into the wall and still on the look-out for anyone who'd noticed him. It made Spectre give a scoff at the man who took off the hood from his head. "I thought I'd find you here. I talked to some dodgy mates, tried to get some answers but err… nothing is ever that clear around here, you know what I'm saying?" He had a slight Liverpool accent to his voice and he finally looked at Spectre directly and without distraction.

This man had very short curly red hair, abnormally large ears and his face was a little blotchy and with dozens of freckles. But this man looked no older than 25, he looked like he had no idea what he was doing and like he would regret what he was planning for the rest of his supposedly difficult life as soon as he stepped outside that door. Spectre stared into his dark sea-green eyes with mild amusement as he leaded forward and rested his arms on the table. "My name's Scotty. And… I need a favour to ask of you."

"And what's this favour you ask of me?" Again, Scotty glanced over his shoulder at the bar and he turned his head back slowly in thought.

"I-I-" he stuttered and scratched his white neck nervously which soon left a red rash. "It's… It's my ex-girlfriend." Spectre, unwittingly, cast him a very judgemental face at that moment. "I have my reasons! Which, by the way, I thought wasn't relevant to someone like you!" he defended. Spectre tipped his head slightly as Scotty rubbed his face and tried to calm his tense nerves.

"You don't have to be telling me anything, man. It's just business with me. Even if it is personal with you."

Scotty took out a crumpled photograph from his pocket and slid it under his palm to Spectre. He took it in hand and saw a beautiful woman, around Scotty's age, blonde hair and a dark man standing with an arm around her. "That's Sandy. Sandy Andrews. And that's her… that's her brother, Sydney." He pointed at the people in the picture and a painful smile appeared on his face as well as his tone saddened. "They hurt me… now they're going to pay. Right?" Spectre nodded. "I want her _dead _and him… I want him… I want him in the same boat."

"Done," said Spectre.

"But wait!" Scotty interrupted him with wild staring eyes. "… Can I do a request? You know, there are many ways to snuff it today." Spectre was open to whatever creative torture he could come up with. Scotty bent his head on the table and kicked around ideas but soon he looked up again, a little annoyed. "… Lola Davidson." Spectre let his guard down and his stomach drooped. "Does that name stir any memories in you?"

"Excuse me?" He knew perfectly well though. A victim from a few short weeks ago, and it wasn't one of the cleanest.

Scotty now put on an intrigued smile; obviously he was above himself, above a serial killer he thought. No stranger could keep him cowering; no one could ever make him look like the fool. "That was you, wasn't it?" Spectre slapped a hand on the table making Scotty jump and leaned into his face.

"You don't know what cho talking 'bout, boy. Don't go there."

"But… You've pulled it off before. You… you made it look like an _accident,_ man… You're beautiful." Spectre glared and kept watching him. He wasn't going to back down like he thought Scotty easily would. Scotty shook his head lightly and the smile dropped. "I don't care, do what you want. I only have one condition… They need to be found together in the same apartment. The address is on the back." He flipped it over and indeed there it was, just a few blocks down from the street they were on. "You don't… You don't talk an awful much, do you?"

Spectre shrugged and venom snuck into his voice, "If I've got something important to say, I'll say it. I don't bother with pointless conversation on my clients. Most of us just don't have the time." Scotty frowned a little but nodded all the same.

"And the money?"

"What d'ya got?" Scotty fished through his dark green trench coat and brought out an enclosed envelope. Inside was a wad of cash he showed him that Spectre appeared to be satisfied with. He handed it over and Spectre slipped the money and the photo into the inside pocket of his jacket. The deal had been sealed, cancel all reservations, he was busy tonight. "Anything else?"

"Will this compromise ever end?" Scotty asked grimly. Spectre sighed, leaned back in his seat and opened his arms carelessly.

"Business is over. Get yourself an alibi if the cops get on you."

"And that's it? The deed is done; they'll be gone by next morning?"

"That's all there is to it. Thanks for your time." Scotty nodded rapidly and got up from his seat. He gave Spectre one last grateful stare and Scotty felt like this man knew what he was all about, he felt like he could read him like a book. Like they were both running away from the same thing, in hiding. It scared him. He turned on heel and fled the building immediately as he barged past anyone who got in his way.

Spectre finished up his drink and after memorising the names, faces and places back to front, he lit up the photo in his hand and it burned to soot. He got up and walked towards the main bar where Les was entertaining the newcomers with small talk. He strolled past but Les spotted him. "You're leaving already, are ya?" Spectre turned around and smiled at his great friend.

"The night's still young, Les. Let's just see where it takes me." Leslie chuckled almost sinisterly and gave him a wink before Spectre left the establishment and disappeared like smoke into the dark mystified night. With 6 excruciating stabs each to follow for his client's promise. The drinks helped him remain oblivious to their anguish because Spectre couldn't reach that ignorance by himself. And no one could know about his soft spot, his sensitivity to human torture.

--

Russel barged in through the front door to Kong Studios breathing heavily and dripping wet with rain. His shoes gave a swampy squelch when he walked and left a trail of water behind him as he threw off his jacket in frustration. He stopped and panicked, taking off his sunglasses and letting his black hat fall to the ground. Everything was warping around him and dizziness overcame him. He forgot about his clothes as his face scrunched into repugnance and he made a run to the bathroom before he would chuck up.

He hung his head over the sink and brought his hands to his face. They were covered in blood. Thick bright red tasty _innocent _blood and he can't even remember how it got there and how it so perfectly remained indented into his skin. Russel washed his hands and scrubbed them till they were raw and clean, not a trace of traitor on them. He couldn't bring himself to look up at his reflection because he _never _wanted to look at that face. The face of a killer, a fucking homicidal maniac who just couldn't stop this contradictory fetish. Spectre, meet Russel Hobbs. Two very different people but that barrier just kept getting closer and closer.

The drummer rinsed his hands and flicked them dry before he left for a snack, grabbing Spectre's clothing on the way just as he was falling back into Russel's routine again. Because Russel was always the fool in real life and his only problem was that he dared to escape in the dead of night… for something more. He wandered into the kitchen and looked up only to find the lights already on and Murdoc calmly sitting down, feet up on the table and a fag between his fingers. A softly concerned frown upon his face. Russel mumbled an 'oh' and turned around to walk away.

"Now wait just a fucking minute, lards," said Murdoc. Russel walked up to him and said nothing, did nothing. He felt vulnerable when anyone could see his eyes. Murdoc stared at him and noticed as he stood his clothes were forming puddles at his feet. He gestured Russel, "where've you been at 4 o'clock in the morning then?" Russel shrugged and cleared his throat.

"Just out."

"Out _where?_" he asked, raising his tone.

"Why do care so much, Muds? Do I ever ask you where _you've _disappeared to in the early hours?" Murdoc blew out the smoke and the room rapidly became hazy which didn't help Russel's appetite and yearning to stay clean.

"I'd like to know," he said evenly, patting the dead ash off his cigarette. "This is the third time this month I've caught you sneaking out like a dirty rodent. It almost looks like you're having more fun than moi." Russel scoffed and shook his head.

"That's not the case. I'm just trying to get a social life going."

Murdoc looked surprised, "that's setting the bar a little high, isn't it, Hobbs?" Russel glared down at his feet and bit his lip so tightly. His confidence was well bruised by now, see it wasn't always 2D that got the worst of it. Murdoc smiled and pulled out the chair next to him from under the table. "C'mon, sit down. Nightcaps," he grinned as he got out two glasses from behind him. Russel took a seat uneasily just when Murdoc brought out the Jack Daniels.

"I don't know, Murdoc. I'm tired."

Murdoc shook his head firmly as he poured them both out like he wasn't going to hear it. "No excuses, you've spent the night out and you're telling me you can't handle one last shot? Besides, we have to get up in a couple of hours for that interview with what-his-chops and his dowdy circus lot anyway. Might as well make an entrance, I always say. No, you will join me." Murdoc picked up his glass, gave it a little shake and held it out to Russel for a toast. Russel picked up his and they both clanked their drinks together, "cheers," and took a gulp. The bassist kept a watchful eye on him all the time and Russel hardly glanced over at all, like he was afraid of something.

"So…" Russel sipped the horrible strong stuff and gazed at Murdoc who held a sly grin. "Was she good?" Russel stared at him in disbelief and shook his head with worry.

"Whatever you're inferring, I certainly didn't pull a one-nighter."

Murdoc rolled his eyes, "Who are you kidding, Hobbs? You smell like daisies and there's practically lipstick all over your shameful face. Cut the shit, who is she?" Russel quickly finished the last of his drink, glad it was over and done with until Murdoc gave him a refill.

"You're not gonna slag her off, are ya?" he asked grimly. Murdoc shook his head and mumbled a 'nuh uh' as he was too excited by how much room in his glass he had left for more toxic spirits. He silently battled whether he'd let him in Spectre's life but… what was the harm? "… Her name is Madison. But we're not together."

"But you want her, right?"

"Well-"

"She was way out of your league, right? How plastered did you have to get her just so you could get under her dress?" Russel quietly fumed while Murdoc kept leading him on. He knew he was pissed with him but that didn't stop him from trying to take him to his limit.

"Believe it or not, Murdoc… there _are _actually some decent good-hearted people out there and this woman really does like me for who I am," Murdoc chuckled to himself and Russel lowered his head. "I think so anyway…" He shook his head and gave Russel a slap on the back.

"Whatever. Either all, you hadher, man. Didn't think you had it in you." Russel paused and looked up with a steady expression.

"What?"

Murdoc was about to abandon his glass and go straight for the bottle but he stopped halfway. "Well I just thought you weren't the type, you know what I mean." Russel shook his head like a little lost puppy who wanted explanation but Murdoc ignored him and took a swig of the alcohol. It would have looked like Murdoc was holding back just so he could binge drink with a mate but this was another character and he was already resting off his wasted state when he walked in. Murdoc caught him staring and he smiled sweetly. "I need this more than you, mate, you're the one who got laid tonight, so you say."

"So while I was out 'getting laid', what were you doing?" Murdoc laid his head on the table and shrugged moodily.

"Whatever I wanna do, punk. I'm invincible, remember?" he let a shrill laugh escape his lips and Russel nodded awkwardly.

"And you're pissed already. I would say what a surprise but… it's not anymore really, is it?" There was silence while Murdoc's eyes flickered open and closed drowsily. Russel frowned at him and folded his arms seriously, thinking about how much he hated this man and how his hypocritical ways made him sick.

"… Ooh, lighten up, old chum… You had a good night you're not gonna just… throw it… aw-…" Murdoc soon slipped into a deep drunken sleep and started snoring loudly. Russel sighed and yawned and finally he got up from his seat and pried the half finished Jack Daniels out of his dry hands. The drunkard whispered many disturbing pick up lines in his sleep and Russel only hoped they weren't still directed at him.

Just as he was about to put away the bottle, he caught flashes of the scene. Sneaking into their apartment, following her around like her own shadow and wrapping the rope so tightly around her neck so that she couldn't even breathe a sound. While he was too busy trying not to faint as the struggling made his only identity flake off. He was about to put away the bottle but suddenly he decided he needed it to. He switched off the light, leaving Murdoc to it and retired for the night. With his fix as a final kiss off to his average thrice a week evenings, he accidentally caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked like murder.

--

**INCASE ANYONE HASN'T MADE THE CONNECTION YET: SPECTRE IS RUSSEL HOBBS**

**I don't wanna sound cocky or anything but… I like this story. It's got a bit more depth. I don't know. Maybe it's just 'cos we've practically **_**never **_**had a Russel fic. And I've decided that he's my favourite character too :) That kid's messed up but he's alright. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**There are so many stories I want to write. Seriously. If I don't soon, then I'll just forget them. There's gotta be at LEAST 5 I need to have a shot at. **

**I just wanna quit school, hid away for a few years and come back beaming with lengthy bestsellers clasped inside my shaky little hands :) **

**And a platinum CD (or two) I made after hijacking a band. And a few random portraits of Laura ('cos we love her and, of course, she is our leader)**

**Ah, that's the life. **

--

Russel, Noodle, 2D and Murdoc were all seated at a large round table stacked with computers and microphones that were positioned so far in front of them they were almost touching their noses. Behind this advanced technology were two very nerdy men who looked like potential pretty boys but just couldn't find the courage to stop leeching off their mothers. It was always the same interview, the same people, the same questions and unfortunately for some, the same drinks…

"So you wouldn't believe it, right," Murdoc said excitedly after some oily geek gave him another beer. "This random chick who looked like she was still stuck in the '80s came up and just demanded some sort of child support scheme, out of the blue. She completely caught me off guard and I said, "what the fuck are you even on, woman?" and, well apparently, I'd slept with her some many years ago and now she had _my child_ and told me if I wasn't going to pay up then she'd take me to court or some shit. They're always after my money, aren't they? Bloody slappers. I just told her to get lost since she was the first that wasn't cradling some bundle of joy with a red contact lens… I never heard from her after that."

Murdoc shrugged as the producers and everyone else who was running the show nodded in amazement. They hung on to his every word even though he was talking total shit that no one would really care about if it was anyone but him. The other band members who were obviously being left out, had heard the stories repeatedly and they were beginning to believe he was starting to create scenarios like this just so he had something to waffle about.

"_As if_ I would ever sleep with her anyway. I doubt she even was a woman back in the '80s." He sniggered and sculled down the beer like he was dying of thirst, despite the other four empty cans scuttling about his feet. Russel finally decided to do him a favour and he took the drink right out of his hands and held it firmly in his trembling grip. Murdoc stared at him, bewildered.

"… It doesn't hurt to just ask for one, Hobbs, no need to pinch."

"C'mon, Murdoc, man, it's barely noon," Russel replied. Murdoc continued to give him this demeaning glare and he held out a hand for his beer to be returned. Russel looked away and sighed while doing his best to just ignore him but quietly so he won't make a scene. It wasn't the very best of ideas to provoke Murdoc in any way really. He turned back to the concerned freak interviewers with a cold-hearted smile curled on his lips.

"He's right, y'know… Good party last night. I shouldn't really be drinking after that one, should I? I've learnt my lesson. I can't remember what the hell happened back there but I'm sure Russel can fill you in on all the blanks." Everyone eagerly turned their sights onto Russel, expecting him to burst into song about catching up with some famous celebrity the world dotes upon or coming up with a new sing-along classic. Russel scowled at Murdoc without as much as a glance at the others.

"There was no party, Murdoc. You just wanted another cliché of a pathetic excuse that had an explanation for your obsessive binge-drinking problem. And no one here would want to hear about it because death is just another one of your stunts."

Silence flooded the room as people took notes in old-fashioned shorthand for the transcript that would be posted up all over the networks worldwide, the sound recorders still rolling… All eyes were on him and for a minute there, he realised he lost himself as he thought about slipping on the glasses, tipping on the black hat again for the night.

"Um…" One of the nerds in a pink shirt and vest leaned back in his chair, awkwardly switching glances with his partner. "Well that pretty much wraps it up, I reckon... I'm deeply grateful, Gorillaz, for taking time out of your busy schedule to speak to us." He grinned and leaned forward to shake the band members' hands in thanks and Murdoc eyed Russel the entire time until they left the studio.

"Russ," 2D coolly confronted him after the interview as they were walking to the car. "Russ, don't ya think that was a little personal? I thought we were tryin'er break the habit of narkin' on each other." Russel sighed sadly and looked at 2D, looked right into his deep black hole eyes.

"I'm sorry, D. But sometimes… _I just can't stand him,_" he emphasized.

"Yeah I know but 'ow exactly would you like it if one of us mentioned some kinda trouble you were dealing wif?"

"I said I was sorry," Russel repeated as they approached the car now. 2D frowned at Russel when he walked up ahead of him and the lanky man grabbed his arm steadily to make him listen. It was an all new low for Russel, how much lower could you sink when you're getting your ass kicked by the village idiot?

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." They both stopped in their tracks and glared at each for a few further seconds before Russel ripped his arm away from 2D's. That's the sort of thing Russel would be telling _him _and not this sick twisted overturn. Maybe Spectre really was trying to take over and run his life for him. But as long as the real Hobbs was stuck under the blistering sun, his dark alter-ego couldn't even breathe. When everyone was inside the Geep and it was driving on home, the radio was blaring metal and Murdoc never said a word.

--

Russel ran his fingers over his bald head and dug the nails into his scull. He was trying to tear out the thoughts, vibes and consequences of the madman right out of his mind. Another Tuesday night snuck up on him again as usual. It was another nightmare to be relived. Tuesday's were _always _the worst. You were always guaranteed that some unstable muppet was already sitting in your reserved seat, waiting for your call. He'd always fade from Indiana Jones to Peewee Herman before he'd had a chance to rid himself of their dirty blood, so they say. He didn't know what happened after such a casual week had past and why he'd suddenly become sensitive and almost vulnerable. Russel started to cry and everything he used to clear his head and keep himself on the positive had killed him a little more inside. Spectre doesn't cry.

He curled into a foetal position and as the bottled emotions were unleashed and as the streams from his eyes had quietened down, he began to think about Madison. He began to realise how much he missed her. He even wondered if one day he could have the courage to meet her at the downtown café she works in, dressed just as Russel and not in Spectre's masquerade. But, of course, he'd stick out in the crowd. 'Oh my gosh, it's a really big, bald, black man,' they'd say. 'That's gotta be the culprit.'

It was almost dragging on into 8 O'clock now and it wouldn't be long before he'd have to gear up again. Even though he was feeling sick to his stomach, Russel wasn't one to pass off any meal. Sometimes eating can fill the gap inside one's self and can take away the pain. At least distract you from it. He wandered out of his room and into the kitchen where he could smell a delicious aroma cooking already. But nobody was inside the kitchen, as deserted and desolate as a wasteland. A rank smell flowed from the landfill but he hardly noticed it when he started to make dinner for _everyone._ Without Russel, those kids would be out in the rain, wrestling and picking fights just for a scrap of mouldy meat. They should be grateful.

The drummer later had all 4 plates of steaming food set around the table with the silver cutlery. He was even thinking about baking a pie to follow. His other band mates hadn't developed quite a keen sense of smell like Russel had, he was just about to get them when they eventually showed up one by one. Tall and scrawny 2D, who only happened to venture into the kitchen while looking for more painkillers, took a seat and only offered a smile to the special dish Russel slaved over a hot stove for. Russel watched 2D in disgust gobble away at his dinner and not once did he mention any 'thanks' or even 'food's great'. If he had even acknowledged Russel's presence, that would've done.

Noodle came into the kitchen with a beam on her bright face that was directed right at Russel. He smiled back as she sat down and eyed the plate fervently. That's one of the many things Russel loved about Noodle, she was always so positive and she really put the Russel TLC factor into practise. "Hey Noods," he greeted.

"Evening, Russel. 2D." After grinning at her father-figure, she turned a little reluctantly and gave 2D a solemn nod. Russel could make the connection between things easily and found it was all in the way you present yourself, your minuscule actions and how hard you focus on them, which varies around people, and somehow, that whole combination opens the door to the mind. Clearly, she didn't bother with morons such as 2D. She wasn't that big on him from the start anyway. "Mmm, this is so good. I _love _your cooking," she commented as she ate cleanly. Russel smiled even more and suddenly, his storm cloud had just stopped raining on him.

Murdoc walked in not a few minutes later with his thumbs hooked on the rim of his jeans and his inverted cross tucked under his half-buttoned shirt. He stood in the doorway and watched his colleagues eat without him. "Thanks for the fucking calls, guys, I heard you the first time," he mumbled sarcastically and sat down. He stared at the food indecisively and poked it around his plate.

"Eat it before it eats you, Murdoc," said Noodle.

"What do you call this?" Murdoc shot at Russel. He obviously was in a foul mood, they hadn't heard from him all day. Dark circles underlined his eyes like he'd drawn around them with burgundy pastel.

"It's Indian. I thought we could experience a fresh Eastern taste," he explained. "Culture."

"… _What?_"

"I said… forget it." Murdoc sighed with aggravation and looked like he was about to pick up the plate and throw it across the room. Russel bent his head down as low as he could while Murdoc got himself so riled up he couldn't think straight. And everyone at that table had by now figured out why, no questions asked.

"Look, Murdoc, if you don't want to eat then just get the fuck out, don't ruin dinner for all of us just because you're high," Noodle said sternly. Murdoc stood up with a face so hateful and ugly that even hell would spit him back out. "Just because we're out of vodka," she added coldly.

"_YOU-!_" he roared and he sent his plate flying through the air and it smashed into the wall, missing her head by inches. He lunged at her but 2D stood up and grabbed his vein-throbbing arms. "Get off me, faceache!" he yelled and punched him squarely in the face. His face sure would ache after taking a powerful blow that vengeful. 2D screamed and collapsed onto the ground with a hand shakily cupping his nose. Everyone paused and looked down at that moment when 2D squealed in anguish and blood spurted through the cracks in between his fingers. Russel looked back up at Murdoc with tears in his eyes and found he was already staring back at him with his dilated pupil stare.

Murdoc pointed straight at Russel, a little deranged smirk curling on his face. "That should be you down there on the floor lying in a pool of blood, mate. It's _you _I'm pissed at, not them, why they protect a _freak_ like you, I'll never know. And yeah…" he walked evenly around the table, past Noodle holding a tissue to 2D's face, and stood beside Russel who was starting to sweat like a pig.

"Yeah you better buy me that vodka," he whispered right into Russel's anxious face. His breathe stank of stale cigarettes, drugs and worst of all, Murdoc's one best friend and only weakness: Lady Liquor. He couldn't escape his threatening gaze over him. "… 'Cos there's definitely a party brewing up tonight, isn't there, Hobbs?" He laughed before he pounded him down to the ground and left the underside pattern of his Cuban-heeled boots embedded all over Russel's body.

--

**Poor Russel :(**

**Ok. I have a confession. (Since this is the only site where my friends don't stalk me because they want a comment lol)**

**I've realised that I love my ex-girlfriend. I never stopped loving her. And I'm NOT sure if she loves me back… she keeps giving me mixed signals. **

**Like… one day, she'll refuse to sit beside me or even give me a hug (D,x)and then the next day she'll be breathing into my neck and licking my face. **

**I mean… I don't care about my other whacked-out junkie friends that tell me we're not meant to be together right now; I just wanna get inside her MIND… **


End file.
